Do You Remember
by kellyanne
Summary: "Do you remember breaking my heart, Spot? Huh, do you?? I sure as hell can recall every detail" Race/Spot


**Do You Remember**

**By** Sweet Anne

**Rating:** R…welcome to the wonderful land of cursing

**Disclaimer:** Ok…I don't own Newsies. That's obvious.

**Summary:** *glances at clock* It's way after midnight, kids, so don't expect this to make sense, lol. Truthfully…I have no idea why I'm writing this, but I want to, lol. It's quite creepy when you think of it…I feel bad for Race…but that's only because I love him. Anyone who's reading this that isn't a Race-fan…well…you'll think he's crazy towards the end. :(  Race/Spot

            Do you remember the first time we met? It was the day I first left home. Ran away from home, actually. You know that, though. You know all about my family and how I couldn't take the screaming and fighting and…beatings anymore.

            I was ten and you were a year older, but neither of us looked our age. I was too short and you were too thin. Not much has changed. I don't look eighteen and you sure as hell don't look nineteen. 

            Do you remember the train that we both caught? Stowed away on actually. We both were hiding behind these huge, towering crates that were piled up in the storage car of the train. I was still bleeding from when my father had tried to slice me open like a fucking fish. You didn't know me and I sure as hell didn't know you, but when you ran behind those crates and saw me, crying and gushing out blood, you knelt down and tore at the arm of your shirt to clean up all my cuts. I'm pretty sure I feel in love with you right then, when you were wiping blood off my body and I was trying not to cry. I think you wiped away one of my tears and that's when I stopped crying altogether. You made me feel brave.

            Do you remember parting after we snuck off the train, you heading for Brooklyn and me walking towards Manhattan? I didn't even know your real name, but, then again, you didn't know mine either. We just left, both looking like shit. I was still covered in blood because I wouldn't let you wipe it off with your spit and you were missing one arm of your shirt. It was a blue shirt with little black buttons. I had stared at it while you were tying strips of cloth over a gash on my arm. I watched you leave that day, admiring the way your body moved, smooth and lithe, flowing like liquid. It broke my heart that day, watching you leave me. God, if only I had known it wouldn't be the last time.

            Do you remember seeing me at Sheepshead five years later? I hadn't forgotten you, but I pretended not to know you because people at the tracks got too curious sometimes. I didn't want to let myself seem too eager to see you because, knowing how I am when I'm watching a race, I probably would've kissed you or something. God, that would've taken some attention off of the horses. I can still picture the way you tried to hide your smile, though, when you saw me that day. You really are horrible at hiding smiles. 

            Do remember how every other day or so, you'd show up at Sheepshead and we'd sit together watching the race. I'd scream and yell and curse and you'd sit there and laugh. You knew how much I loved the races. That's how I got my name. One night, Jack asked, "Where's the kid that's always at the racetracks," and the name stuck. It was perfect for me, because if I had to introduce myself as Thomas Higgins, I likely would've killed myself. I was named after my father. You know that. Being named after a son of a bitch like him, who beat me every night when the neighbor's kids were getting bedtime stories, it'll nearly kill a person. My entire childhood flashed in front of my eyes whenever I was forced to tell people my real name.

            Do you remember that one night after the races when we were both sixteen? It was the day of my birthday, so we were both the same age, even if you were technically older. You had decided to take me out to the track for the entire day. You even paid for my bets that day. It started raining just as it started getting dark, though, so you cursed, and grabbed my hand, pulling me through the streets like you owned them…which you did. I thought you were bringing me back to the Brooklyn lodging house, but I was too deeply submerged in this pleasurable fantasy to realize we weren't. See, you hadn't let go of my hand and I couldn't help but think of things Snitch had told me he did with Skittery. God, I was just lucky the rain was cold, if you get what I'm saying.

            Do you remember pulling me into that alley, the rain soaking us both to the bone and making our clothes stick to our bodies? I couldn't even stop myself before I brushed a few wet pieces of hair from your forehead. You had looked at me like I was crazy and, you know what?? I was. I was crazy for you, but could you blame me? Everything about the way you moved and spoke, even about the way you drew attention to yourself just by entering a room…that was all it took for me to so completely crazy.

            My hand had slid from your forehead, resting on your shoulder because I wasn't sure what to do with it. I had my fingers wrapped firmly around your shoulder, but my eyes were on the walls of the alley. I was too afraid to look you in the eye. I was scared that I might see anger or disgust…something that would ruin the friendship that I'd cherished for years. But you tipped my chin up with a cold, wet finger and I saw, in those amazing, deep gray eyes of yours, a desire that matched my own. And, behind the desire, I saw the same look of complete devotion that shone through my own eyes every time I saw you.

            "Race?" You had asked, your voice unnaturally soft. I thought I had been wrong about what I had seen in your eyes at that moment. I thought maybe you were just being my friend and questioning why I had touched you shoulder. Maybe you were being the mighty Spot Conlon and getting ready to soak me for touching you. 

            No. I was wrong on all accounts. You smiled, a true, sexy smile that I'd never seen before on your lips, and then craned your neck down to kiss me. I can still feel you smashing your mouth to mine, one of your hands at the small of my back and the other on my shoulder, guiding us both until my back hit the wall. That was when I felt your erection against the inside of my leg and I smiled against your kiss, moaning your name softly.

            Do you remember laying me down on the cobblestone alley floor, your legs straddling my hips as you unbuttoned my shirt so slow, it was painful? I remember how you eyes had widened when you had rid me of the shirt, seeing all the scars that I hid so well beneath a few layers of cloth and a delicately constructed lie. You closed you eyes for a second and I was sure you were going to leave me on the ground. I would've stayed, you know, even if you'd left. Just me, drowning in the pouring rain. 

But you didn't leave. No, instead you brushed a soft kiss to my lips and then frowned.

"Do they still hurt?" You had asked, one wet finger tracing over the scars that marred my entire body. Your finger was so soft that I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning.

"Yeah…they always hurt," You knew I meant psychologically more then physically. 

"I won't hurt you," You whispered and slowly let your lips replace your fingers, delicately kissing each and every scar that lay on my skin. I felt my back arch, but it was all too surreal. This was too perfect.

"I know you won't," I said, squeezing my eyes closed and lacing my hands through your hair as you placed soft kissed along the waistband of my pants. I gasped as one long, lean finger hooked under the fabric and started to work them off.

Do you remember making love in that dirty alley? I can still feel your skin against mine. You had managed to be warm even though the rain was falling as cold as ice, washing away the sweat that was forming on both our brows. I felt like such a martyr that first time. It hurt so badly, but at the same time, you made it feel wonderful and sensual. Your eyes never left mine as you entered my body and, even though it hurt more then anything in my life, even more then the beatings I had endured for the first ten years of my existence, you knew you were giving me the greatest pleasure you had to offer.

Do you remember when we were both panting for breath on those cobblestones, the rain washing over us, my hair matted to your chest? Do you remember what you told me? You said, "Happy birthday, Racey-boy. I gave you the only gift I had to offer."

I hadn't known what you were talking about, so I looked up into your eyes and you smiled.

"Love, Race."

I nodded, letting the words sink in. My finger slowly traced the words 'I love you' across your chest and you kissed the top of my head

Do you remember those first two years that followed that night? It had to be a secret, I knew, but I'm positive some of the guys figured it out. Jack and Skitts, probably. They both knew about being in love with another guy and I guess they figured out the signs. Jack had David and Skitts had Snitch, so they knew all about it. I loved going to Sheepshead those first years, knowing that you'd be waiting in an alley or around a corner, just waiting for me so we could share a few private minutes together. That was my heaven, being with you where nobody could see us or find us or bring us back to reality.

Do you remember breaking my fucking heart, Spot?? Huh, do you?? I sure as hell can recall every single fucking detail. It was October fifteenth. Me, I had been walking back from Sheepshead and I heard someone say your name from down an alley. Can you tell me what I saw when I followed the voice? Huh, Spot fucking Conlon, can you???

You were on top of Jack Kelly, Manhattan leader, his pants at his ankles and your mouth over his dick. Do you know how badly it hurt to see you two, Spot? Can you even imagine how much pain you caused??

Do you remember the night I killed you?? Do you remember all the blood? I liked it, seeing you bleed. You had deserved to feel all the pain you had caused me. I hadn't even felt bad.

You know, I started to understand why my father had always made me bleed. It was so satisfying, being in control and having someone's life in your hands.

Well, goodbye Spot Conlon. Thanks for ripping my heart out, metaphorically speaking. I returned the favor…only I really _did_ rip your heart out.

Author's Note: Ok, I'm laughing my ass off…heehee…welcome into my fucked up mind, people!! Whee….I enjoyed writing that. Vented some anger! And I got to kill someone!! Wohoo!! Who needs therapy when you can just…rip someone's heart out through fanfiction *wink*

Author's Note Number 2: I'm not crazy…*shakes head* just a random fic idea…heehee….not crazy at all!!!!! NOW REVIEW!!!!! :D  

Author's Note Number 3: Oh yeah…I remembered the whole reason I was author's-noting!! I just wanted to say I didn't read over this, so any grammatical errors…sorry. It's one-thirty in the morning!! Wow….took me an hour and a half to write this *shrugs* I've gotten side-tracked a couple of times. Now review!!! 


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